Now You See Me
by mansarovar
Summary: This is a parody of the story "Now You See Me" by S.J Bolton. Stiles has always been intrigued by violent crimes for as long as he could remember which had led him to the police force. But he has never been a part of a crime investigation. When London is rocked by a series of crimes imitating the infamous Jack the Ripper, DC Stiles Stilinski finds himself caught in a killer's game.
1. Chapter 1

**Now You See Me parody (Sterek)**

 **Prologue**

Eleven years ago

 _LEAVES, MUD AND GRASS DEADEN SOUND. EVEN screams. The boy knows this. Any sound he might make can't possibly travel the quarter mile to the car headlights and street lamps, to the illuminated windows of tall buildings that he can see beyond the wall. The nearby city isn't going to help him and screaming will just burn up energy he can't spare_

 _He was alone. A moment ago he wasn't_

 _'Julia,' he says. 'Julia, this isn't funny_

 _Difficult to imagine anything less funny. So why is someone giggling? Then another sound. A grinding, scraping noise._

 _He could run. The bridge isn't far. He might make it_

 _If he runs, he leaves Julia behind_

 _A breeze stirs the leaves of the tree he's standing beside and he finds he can't stop shaking. He dressed, a few hours ago, for a hot pub and a heated bus ride home, not this open space at midnight. Knowing that any second now he may have to run, he lifts first one foot and then the other and takes off his party shoes._

 _'I've had enough now,' he says, in a voice that doesn't sound like his own. He steps forward, away from the tree, little closer to the great slab of rock lying ahead of him on the grass. 'Julia,' he says. 'Where are you?'_

 _Only the scraping answers back._

 _The stones looks taller at night. Not just bigger, but blacker and older. Yet the circle they make seems to have shrunk. He has a sense of those just out of his line of sight slipping closer, playing grandmother's footsteps; enough that if he spins round now, there they'll be, close enough to touch._

 _Unthinkable not to turn with an idea like that in his head; not to whimper when a dark shape plainly is moving closer. One of the tall stones has split in two like a splinter of rock breaking away from the cliff. The splinter stands free and steps forward._

 _He runs then, but not for long. Another black shape is blocking his path, cutting off his route to the bridge. He turns. Another. And another. Dark figures make their way towards him. Impossible to run. Useless to scream. All he can do is turn on the spot, like a rat caught in a trap. He swing his fists and it hit one of the figures but there are others until they take a hold of him and drag him towards the great flat rock and one thing, at least, becomes clear._

 _The sound he can hear is that of a blade being sharpened against stone_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Now You See Me parody (Sterek)**

 **Part One: Polly**

'The brutality of the murder is beyond conception and beyond description' Star, 31st August 1888

 **Chapter 1**

 **Friday 31 August**

A dead woman was leaning against my car.

Somehow managing to stand upright, arms outstretched, fingers grasping the rim of the passenger door, a dead woman was spewing blood over the car's paintwork, each splatter overlaying the last as the pattern began to resemble a spider's web.

A second later she turned and her eyes met mine.

Dead eyes.

A savage wound across her throat gaped open; her abdomen was a mass of scarlet.

She reached out; I couldn't move.

She was clutching me, strong for a dead woman.

I know, I know, she was on her feet, still moving, but it was impossible to look into those eyes and think of her as anything other than dead.

Technically, the body would still be clinging on, the heart still beating, she had a little control over her muscles.

Technicalities, all of them.

Those eyes knew the game was up.

Suddenly I was hot.

Before the sun went down, it had been a warm evening, the sort when London's buildings and pavements cling to the heat of the day, hitting you with a wave of hot air when you venture outside.

This was something new, though, this pumping, sticky warmth.

This heat had nothing to do with the weather, I hadn't seen the knife.

But I could feel the handle of it now, pressing against me.

She was holding me so tightly, was pushing the blade further into her own body.

 _No, don't do that_.

I tried to hold her away, just enough to take the pressure of the knife.

She coughed, except the cough came from the wound on her throat, not her mouth.

Something splashed over my face and then the world turned around us.

We'd fallen.

She sank to the ground and I went with her, hitting the tarmac hard and jarring my shoulder.

Now she was lying flat on the pavement, staring up at the sky, and I was kneeling over her.

Her chest was still moving - _There's still time_ , I told myself, knowing there wasn't.

I needed help. None to be had.

The small car park was deserted. Tall buildings of six – and eight storey blocks of surrounded us and, for a second, I caught a movement on one of the balconies.

Then nothing.

The twilight was deepening by the second.

She'd been attacked moments ago. Whoever had done it would be close.

I was reaching for my radio, patting pockets, not finding it, and all the while watching the woman's eyes.

My backpack had fallen a few feet away.

I fumbled inside and found my mobile, summoning police and ambulance to the car park outside Victoria House on the Brendon Estate in Kennington.

When I ended the call, I realized she had taken hold of my hand.

A dead woman was holding my hand, and it was almost beyond me to look into those eyes and see them trying to focus on mine.

I had to talk to her, keep her conscious.

I couldn't listen to the voice in my head telling me it was over.

' _It's ok_ ,' I was saying.

 _'It's ok_.'

The situation was clearly a very long way from OK.

' _Help's coming_ ,' I said, knowing she was beyond help.

' _Everything's going to be fine_.'

We lie to dying people, I realized that evening, just as the first sirens sounded in the distance.

' _Can you hear them? People are coming. Just hold one._ ' Both her hand and mine were sticky with blood.

The metal strap of her watch pressed into me.

' _Come on, stay with me.'_ Sirens were getting louder.

 _'Can you hear them? They're almost here_.' Footsteps running.

I looked up to see flashing blue lights reflected in several windows.

A patrol car had pulled up next to my gold and a uniformed constable was jogging towards us, speaking into his radio.

He reached us and crouched down.

' _Hold on now_ ' I said. " _People are here, we'll take care of you_.'

The constable had a hand on my shoulder.

' _Take it easy,_ ' he was saying, just as I'd done seconds earlier, only he was saying it to me.

' _There's an ambulance on its way. Just take it easy._ ' The officer was in his mid-forties, heavy set, with thinning grey hair.

I thought perhaps I'd seen him before.

' _Can you tell me where you're hurt?_ ' he asked. I turned back to the dead woman. Really dead now. ' _Sir, can you talk to me? Can you tell me your name? Tell me where you're injured?_ '

No doubt about it. Pale-blue eyes fixed. Body motionless.

I wondered if she'd heard anything I'd said to her.

She had the most beautiful hair.

I noticed then, the palest shade of ash blond.

It spread around her head like a fan. Her earrings were reflecting light from the streetlamps and there was something about the way they sparkled through strands of her hair that stuck me as familiar.

I released her hand and began pushing myself up from the pavement.

Gently, someone kept me where I was.

' _I don't think you should move sir. Wait till the ambulance gets here_ '

I hadn't the heart to argue, so I just kept staring at dead woman.

Blood had splattered across the lower part of her face.

Her throat and chest was awash with it.

It was pooling beneath her on the pavement, finding tiny nicks in the paving stones to travel along.

In the middle of her chest, I could just make out the fabric of her shirt.

Lower down her body, it was impossible.

The wound on her throat wasn't the worst of her injuries, not by any means.

I remembered hearing once that the average female body contained around five liters of blood. I'd just never quite considered what it would look like when it was all spilling out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Now You See Me parody (Sterek)**

 **Chapter 3**

 _'I'm OK, I'm not hurt. It's not my blood_.' I wanted to stand up; they wouldn't let me move. Three paramedics were huddled around the blonde woman. They seemed to be holding pressure pads against the wound to her abdomen. I heard mention of a tracheotomy. Then something about a peripheral pulse. _Shall we call it? I think so, she's gone_.

They were turning to me now. I got to my feet. The woman's blood was sticky against my skin, already drying in the warm air. I felt myself sway and saw movement. The blocks of flat surrounding the squares had long balconies running the length of every floor. A few minutes ago they had been deserted. Now they were packed with people. From the back pocket of my jeans I pulled out my warrant card and held it up to the nearest officer.

' _DC Stiles Stilinski_ ,' I said.

He read it and looked into my eyes for confirmation. ' _Thought you looked familiar,_ ' he said. ' _Based at Southwark, are you?_ ' I nodded.

' _CID_ ,' he said to the hovering paramedics who, having realized there was nothing they could do for the blond woman, had turned their attention to me. One of them moved forward, I stepped back.

' _You shouldn't touch me_.' I said. ' _I'm not hurt_.' I looked down at my bloodstained clothes, feeling dozens of eyes staring at me. ' _I'm evidence_.'

I wasn't allowed to slink off quietly to the anonymity of the nearest police station. DC Mehealani, the first detective on the scene, had received a call from the DI in charge. She was on her way and didn't want me going anywhere until she'd had a chance to speak to me. Danny Mehealani had been a colleague of mine at Southwark before he'd joined the area's Major Investigation Team, or MIT, based at Lewisham. He wasn't much older than me and was one of those lucky types blessed with almost universal popularity. Men liked him because he worked hard, but not so hard anyone around him felt threatened, he liked down-to-earth, liked lacrosse but could hold down a conversation about golf or cricket, he didn't talk over much but whatever he said was sensible. Women liked him because he was tall and slim, with curly dark hair and a cheeky grin. He nodded in my direction, but was too busy trying to keep the public back to come over. By this time, screens had been erected around the blond woman's body. Deprived of the more exciting sight, everyone wanted to look at me. News had spread. People had sent text messages to friends, who'd hotfooted it over to join in the fun. I sat in the back of a patrol car, avoiding prying eyes and trying to do my job. The first sixty minutes after a major incident are the most important, when evidence is fresh and the trail to the perpetrator still hot. There are strict protocols we have to follow. I didn't work on a murder team, my day to day job involved tracing owners of stolen property and was far less exciting, but I knew I had to remember as much as possible. I was good at detail, a fact I wasn't always grateful for when the dull jobs invariably came my way but I should be glad of it now.

' _Got you a cup of tea sir_.' The PC who'd appointed himself as my minder was back. ' _You might want to drink it quick_ ,' he added, handing it over. ' _The DI's arrived_ ,'

I followed his glance and saw a silver Mercedes sports car had pulled up not far from my own car. Two people got out. The man was tall and even at a distance I could see he was no stranger to the gym. He was wearing jeans, a grey polo shirt and a leather jacket. Tanned arms. Sunglasses. The woman I recognized immediately from photographs. Slim as a model, with blond hair cut into a chin-length bob, she was wearing the sort of jeans women pay over a hundred pounds for. She was the newest senior recruit to the twenty-seven major investigation teams based around London and her arrival had been covered officially, in internal circulars, and unofficially on the various police blog sites. She was young for the role of DI, not much more than mid-thirties, but she'd just worked a high profile case in Scotland. She was also rumored to know more about HOLMES 2, the major incident computer system, than practically any other serving UK police officer. Of course, it didn't hurt, one or two of the less supportive blogs had remarked, that she had seizures.

I watched her and the man pull on pale-blue Tyvek suits and shoe covers. She tucked her hair into the hood. Then they went behind the screens, the man standing aside at the last moment to allow her to go first. By this time, white-suited figures were making their way around the site like phantoms.

The scene-of-crime officers had arrived. They would establish an inner codon around the body and an outer one around the crime scene. From now on, everyone entering the cordons would be signed in and out, the exact time of their arrival and departure being recorded. I'd learned all of this at the crime academy, only a few months ago, but it was the first time I'd seen it in practice.

A gazebo-like structure was being erected over the spot where the corpse still lay. Screens had already been put up to create walls and within seconds the investigators had a large, enclosed area in which to work. Police tape was set up around my car. Lights were being unloaded from the van just as the DI and her companion emerged.

They spoke together for a few seconds, then the man turned and walked off, striding over the striped tape that marked the edge of the cordon.

The DI came my way.

' _I'll leave you to it_ ,' said my minder. I handed him my cup and he moved away. The new DI was standing in front of me. Even in the Tyvek suit she looked elegant. Her skin was white with a hint of a pink flush and her eyes brown. I remember reading that her father was an insurance adjustor.

' _DC Stilinski?_ ' she asked, in a soft voice. I nodded.

' _We haven't met_ ,' she went on. ' _I'm Erica Reyes_.'


End file.
